


Hung Hearts #2

by voleuse



Series: Hung Hearts [2]
Category: Alias
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-28
Updated: 2004-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-05 06:43:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>If kiss were conquest, were conclusion, I might be true.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Hung Hearts #2

**Author's Note:**

> No spoilers. Title, summary, and headings adapted from Karen Volkman's _When Kiss Spells Contradiction_.

_i. tack and tumble_

Sydney winces as the car flies over another bump and into another pothole, the rough terrain counteracting the flimsy splint on her wrist. She wishes she had more materials to work with, but a torn piece of her skirt and a couple of pens was the best she could improvise, especially when she's in the middle of a high-speed car chase in the Tuscan countryside.

Another shot ricochets off the trunk of the car, and she ducks, turning her attention to Sark as he drives.

She's mildly reassured by his grip on the wheel, the way he steers to avoid the worst of the potholes, but she has a sneaking suspicion that most of Sark's high-speed chases have been on roads that were paved less than five years ago, and she really wishes that he was driving a bullet-proof sedan instead of the vanity vehicle they're currently occupying.

As if sensing her scrutiny, Sark glances at her. The ghost of a smile graces his lips. "You seem worried."

"Well, yeah," she grits out, attempting to brace her wrist by clutching it in her good hand, steadying her elbow against the car door. "Aren't you?"

Instead of answering, he swerves onto a crossroad, looking back at the car behind them.

Sydney follows his line of sight just in time to see Jo the teenage assassin lean out her window, keeping one hand on the wheel while she aims her Glock at them, left-handed.

Sark jerks the wheel to the right, and the bullet smashes the driver's side mirror.

"Perhaps," he says, "I'm slightly concerned."

_ii. so high it was  
**Four Days Earlier**_

They've been in the air for four hours so far, and Sydney's experiencing a familiar sense of boredom. Normally she'd take the time to review the mission parameters, but her father hadn't lied; this was a cake walk.

She glances over at Eric, hoping to set up an impromptu game of poker, but he's nodded off in his seat.

"He looks pretty out of it," Belinda observes from across the aisle.

Sydney laughs softly. "He had last week off. How tired could he be?"

Belinda shrugs. "Does he play sports?"

"Hockey. Some basketball." Sydney taps her forehead, shoots a goofy grin at Belinda. "He mentioned having tickets to a game. It was probably last night."

"Ah." Belinda nods, then bends her attention back to the file in her lap.

"Is this your first field mission?" Sydney peers at the file, notes a couple of complex diagrams. "That looks kind of complicated."

"Just in case we have wiring problems." Belinda smiles. "It's the first time I've run comm on my own. I don't want to screw anything up."

"I'm sure you won't." Feeling a burst of camaraderie, Sydney leans across the aisle, places her hand on Belinda's arm. "Dad doesn't pick anyone but the best."

Belinda laughs, a little nervously. "I hope you're right."

iii. what he'd read

After complicated series of U-turns and sudden swerves around fields and the occasional farm, Sark screeches into an approximation of a parking lot.

They can hear Jo's tires screeching, just down the road, but it's enough time for them to find cover.

Enough time for Sydney to get out of the car and stare at the cathedral in front of them. "You have _got_ to be kidding me." A small group of people emerge from the building, and she crowds closer to Sark, hiding her sprained wrist.

Sark slips an arm around Sydney's waist and guides her past the churchgoers, into the cathedral itself.

"If I remember correctly," he murmurs towards her hair, "mass ended half an hour ago. The sanctuary should be empty by now."

Sydney nods, stopping at the threshold of the sanctuary, sweeping her gaze across the interior.

Empty, though a faint, solemn echo indicates that there are people elsewhere in the church.

A loud roar and screech outside cause Sydney to duck. "Jo," she identifies, but Sark is already striding down the center aisle.

"I don't suppose," he asks, "you know how to play the organ?"

"What?" Sydney jogs to catch up, following him to the front, past the altar and the loft, and around a corner. "I'm a spy, not a musician."

"Pity."

Then heavy, quick footsteps echo through the sanctuary, heralding Jo's arrival. Sydney crouches, looks around, but there isn't any way out that won't expose them to Jo's line of sight. She assesses the feasibility of pretending to give herself up, allowing Sark to ambush Jo, decides it's worth the risk.

She turns to signal to Sark, but before she can indicate her intentions, he opens his mouth and starts to sing.

_Jesu, joy of man's desiring  
Holy wisdom, love most bright_

Sydney freezes. Hears the footsteps stutter and slow, echoing her heartbeat.

_Drawn by Thee, our souls aspiring_

She's about to get killed because Sark felt like singing _hymns_.

_Soar to uncreated light_

The footsteps start again, moving closer to them, and Sydney's sure this is it. She draws her gun from its holster, takes a deep breath.

_Word of God, our flesh that fashioned_

Then another set of footsteps joins the first, and a voice calls out in Italian. Sydney's a little rusty, but she's pretty sure, from the quality of the speaker's voice, that it's a priest.

_With the fire of life impassioned_

Jo answers, in passable Italian, Sydney thinks, and then the heavy footsteps retreat.

_Striving still to truth unknown_

The other set of footsteps approaches again, until it's right in front of them.

_Soaring, dying round Thy throne_

The priest peers around the organ at them, and Sydney stands up, abashed.

Sark rattles off something in Italian, then wraps his arms around Sydney. He grins at the priest, and amazingly enough, the priest chuckles.

Sydney thinks that she might have preferred Jo's attention, but when Sark brushes his lips against hers, she convinces herself to smile.

_iv. I'll never pearl_

The drive back to the hotel is silent, aside from the purr of the engine and the tapping thud of gravel skidding under the tires.

When the hotel appears in the distance, Sark turns to Sydney. "Surely the kiss wasn't so bad." His eyes dart from her to the empty road before him.

"What?" She curses under her breath, annoyed with herself for inadvertently acknowledging his existence. "Was that a joke?"

He lifts one shoulder in an elegant shrug. "It seemed appropriate."

"Right." She shifts to face away from him, and manages to ignore him until they reach the hotel.

After handing his keys to the valet (who is unusually courteous, given the fate of his predecessor), Sark extends a hand to Sydney. "Might I offer you a drink?"

Sydney considers his palm the way she would a scorpion, but she's alone in Tuscany, aside from him, and Jo killed all her back-up. She doesn't take his hand, but she jerks her head to the door. "Lead the way."

As they walk through the hotel corridors, Sark draws closer to her, blocking her makeshift splint from other people's view. She thinks she should be grateful, but she's distracted by the rub of his fingers against her waist.

She thinks she might have been drugged one too many times in the past day.

Sark's room is, surprisingly, not a suite, but luxurious enough that Sydney allows herself a moment to gape. _It's unfair_, she thinks, _the bad guys always get the good hotel rooms_.

Sark wanders to a corner of the room and pulls a bottle of water from the mini-refrigerator. Offers it to her, and he's thoughtful enough to let her break the seal herself.

She takes a long gulp, then another, savoring the first drink she's had since she was stuffed in a trunk earlier that day. The water is on the right side of icy, and it clears her head in a way the earlier adrenaline burst didn't. Then, something occurs to her.

"Sark."

He acknowledges the inherent question of his name, raising his chin.

"What are you doing here? In Italy? It can't be coincidence."

He doesn't answer immediately, but purses his lips, thinking. After a few seconds, he tilts his head. "Upon reflection, it is likely that my presence is related to your appearance here."

Sydney caps the bottle, lets it roll out of her hand and onto the bed. "Related how?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

The answer echoes out from the bathroom, and it's followed by the appearance of a familiar blond teenager. Jo smirks, leveling her gun at Sydney's chest.

"He's here to meet me."


End file.
